Hope For
by The Golden Ostrich
Summary: Roger reflects on springtime in Paradigm, as opposed to the cliche regarding the season...short and sweet...please R&R!


Hope For (Evolution)

The Golden Ostrich

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Disclaimer: I don't own anyone (but I did buy Giles' soul for 25 cents)

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Author's Note: if this storyline seems similar to The Day of the Advent, that's probably because I got the inspiration for this while watching that episode...  
  
Springtime always brings out the optimism in people...this city boasts no exceptions. Despite the oily drizzle that floats down from chilly gray clouds, the denizens of Paradigm do their best to fill the streets with hope.  
  
These are a people with no past, and arguably, no future. Spring has always been a symbolic reawakening, but in a sunless world such as this, the melting snow only cries the frustrations of death.  
  
Stories told by the city's elders weave pictures of verdant grass and demure violet flowers, thriving in the rays of a sun unblocked by clouds. Jewel-toned birds scattered in skies tinged with hues of cerulean, rather than the misty gray that clings to the buildings like frost. Now the fairy tale of springtime can only be found in the artificial luxury of the domes...only the rich are entitled to what was one taken for granted.  
  
But outside the domes, the less fortunate still indulge in the old stories. Always at this time of year, they fill the sidewalks with banners and music, deck their hair in flowers, and don shades of what and saffron cotton and linen.  
  
Dorothy makes a strange sight, as I'm sure I do too, walking through the pale rejoicing crowds in her straight black dress, that same dour look upon her face. Being an android, the idea of hope is surely a distant one for her...  
  
Forty years ago, this city lost all of its memories, taking the promise of rebirth with them. Their obligatory significance was forsaken by the inherent evil of mankind...now these streets weep quietly at their loss. The people who walk them are proof of our ignorance; victims of a corrupt, soulless existence.  
  
At least that's what Schwarzwald believed...but society deemed him as deranged. He was dangerous because he claimed to have knowledge. I don't know what to think of him.  
  
He would call these people fools, as they dance in the streets and pray for the sun to finally break through the perpetual cloud cover. He might be right...it is foolish to be an optimist in a world such as the one that we inhabit...  
  
It was on the day that the clouds did indeed break that I woke, as usual, to Dorothy's piano playing. Her mechanical logic insists that there must be something wrong about a person sleeping past noon...I have given up on telling her otherwise; she's either been programmed to be stubborn, or picked up the demeanor from her time spent with humans.  
  
There were no clients to meet with that day, most of the dome dwellers being at peace with their artificial springtime, and those living outside the false skies celebrating. Spring was always slow for business...  
  
As it was, Dorothy and I ended up on the roof, observing the people down below. It was almost as though the world had been reborn, watching them...floral garlands stretched across the streets, creating bright canopies of pink and green, while below the children ran and couples danced to music. It was an ironic rebirth though, as all the flowers were from the dome greenhouses...they don't grow naturally in this world anymore. Whatever it was that happened forty years ago, left only black roots and withered leaves for scientists to recreate from. Our flowers, our fruits, our grains...they're all genetic imitations of something that now exists only in fairy tales.  
  
"It's going to rain," Dorothy told me. "All their flowers will be destroyed."  
  
I looked up at the clouds and saw that she was right...they were darker than usual, more ominous.  
  
"Looks like their prayers for sunshine didn't work," I mused.  
  
But they seemed quite bent on staying outside, despite the gray of the sky. Even as the first few drops spilled onto the heads of their flowers, the futile celebrations continued.  
  
I could almost understand why they were fixed on remaining in the open...the rain is symbolic in a way. It's one of the few things that remains unchanged from forty years ago; one of the few memories that people can see and understand. It gives this city a shadow of a past. Even Dorothy can comprehend that...the dead girl that she was modeled after must've loved the rain as she.  
  
The flower petals began to fall, beaten down by the rain. It's almost as if the drops were poured down by Schwarzwald as he scolded the human race for their foolishness; tears shed by the ever-hopeful for realizing there can never be anything but a fake spring. They pooled in the streets, gathering at the bare heels of the destitute, streamed through their hair and down their faces, but still they stood staring at the sky. I came to understand that all their dreams were pinned on these clouds, and to see them only obliterating their celebrations...  
  
But as I turned to gaze at the heavens myself, I began to see something...through the rain that I blinked away, the clouds were finally wearing themselves thin. And through that pale mist that hung over the city, began to flow a warmth that none of us had ever felt. Slowly the rays opened up, embracing Paradigm and sparkling off the glass panes of the domes. The rain melted into sunlight, the flowers shook away the water, and spring was born unto the world again.  
  
"Roger," Dorothy said, "I remember this."  
  
And those are the strangest words to hear, from either android or human, in this city. 


End file.
